Merry and Bright

Yesterday was the most hee-hee-larious day in the history of the world. It was seriously the kind of day Sponge Bob would sing about. 

If he lived in Utah.

Wait! If Sponge Bob lived in Utah, he wouldn't be Sponge Bob, he would be Snow Bob.  

But snow can't sing, so . . . scratch that analogy. 

Wait! Don't scratch that analogy.  This post ain't even about Sponge Bob. It's about that four letter word that starts with S and ends with NOW!    

This post is about the weatherman forcing me at gunpoint to keep my kids home from school so I could capture them on video the instant they saw that four letter word falling from the sky for the very first time.

And capture it I did!  

And believe you, me, it was hee-hee-larious! And exciting!

And sweet.

And my boys learned that snow can't keep you from hanging loose. 

But most of all they learned that four letter words are freeeeezy cold.  

Brrrrrrrrr! 

Somewhere in between singing the Rocky theme song and making snow angels and shouting for sheer joy, my twins stopped and got quiet and shook their heads and said, "Man, I wish Jimmy and Nana were here. This would be much more fun if Jimmy and Nana were here." 

Aw shucks!  

Jimmy and Nana are my x-door neighbor, Martha's twins.  

Her twins and my twins have been bosom buddies since birth (sniff).  It's sweet that my twins realized it just ain't right they should lose their snow virginity without her twins, you know.

Insert moment of silence here.

After the snow we cranked on the fireplace and ate musubi and watched Elf.  

Then the boys watched the weather channel to find out when it's going to snow again while I listened to Frank Sinatra telling me to have a Holly Jolly Christmas.  

And then I cooked.  And cooked.  And cooked.  

I was going to wait for Kellie Pickler to write a cook book before I started my Dumb and Dumber cooking blog project, but I CAN'T.  

Something about Frank Sinatra just makes me want to chop green onions and bean sprouts.  

I made Hitachi Steak and Japanese fried rice from Benihanas. YUM-O! Best fried rice ever. (Although I added chopped SPAM--is that blasphamy?) You must beg me for the recipe so you can lub it too.

And then I made the Hard Rock Cafe's Baked Potato Soup.  Mmm Mmm good. Campbell's ain't got nothin' on the Hard Rock. It's Hot and spicey. And baked potatoey. 

And if you want the bestest bestest steak in the history of the world, sprinkle some Spade L Ranch beef marinade and seasoning on it before you grill it.  

TO. DIE. FOR. 

I didn't even learn that tip from a famous restaurant recipe book.  I learned that from a tailgate party, put on by a silly goose grocery store, run by crazy dumb people who pay you to take their milk of their hands.  

Tomorrow I'm going to make me some Chili's salsa, cuz I lub me some Chili's salsa. 

Wait! This post ain't about cooking. This post is about four letter words that end with NOW!  

So last night @9pm I heard a shriek, followed by some major commotion, which I quickly learned was my boys scrambling to pull on their snow pants and boots and zip up their marshmallow jackets. Apparently the whole world was covered with an inch of snow.  

My daughter heard the commotion too so she jumped out of bed, pulled her boots on over her pajamas and rushed outside, where she did a Nacho Libre dive straight onto the front lawn. 

She slid across the lawn on nothing more than a wing and a prayer before she commenced to frolick with her brothers. After that it was pretty much a blur--snow flying to the left and to the right and screams of delight shattering the silent night. 

Let's just say all was not calm. 

From there they raced to the trampoline, where they left all their inhibitions on the ground. Then they raced to the park where they jumped on a couple of sleds and covered themselves from head to toe in more snow, glorious snow.  

Finally at 10:30 we felt like we should spank them all soundly and send them to bed, but before we could lay a hand on my daughter, she did a few Toyota leaps.

I fell into bed exhausted and thankful that I'm a lazy mom and not a working mom.  

If I was a working mom, who would make sure their coats and gloves were toasty warm and dry for school the next day?  Who would draw their steaming baths and pour their boiling cocoa? Who would sweep and mop up all their wet, dirty mess eight times a day?  

(That was a rhetorical question, so you can stop scratching your heads.)

Anywho . . . not to sound braggetty, but may your day be as merry and bright as my day was!